


Protocol

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: F/M, Het
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 13:26:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harrison needs to make a move.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protocol

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Business Associates #2 under the pen name Laura Grigsby and Gillian Holt.

_"Just do something, mister, before you drive the rest of us crazy."_

 

          Harrison paced in his office.  Pausing every fifth turn, he leaned against his desk, folded his arms over his chest and sighed heavily.  After fifteen seconds, he pushed off and began the pattern all over again.

          On the second step of the fifth turn a sharp rap on his closed room halted Blackwood mid-stride, three steps away from his desk.  "Go away," he called.

          He completed the three steps and leaned against the desk, his arms folding over his chest.

          "Not a chance, Blackwood.  Now, open the door."

          Harrison sighed and leveled the double doors with a glare designed to leave both them and the colonel nothing more than smoking embers.

          "I haven't got all day, Blackwood."

          _So much for the powers of positive thinking…_   With a low growl, he pushed off and stalked to the doors, yanking them open.

          Ironhorse fought back a grin, but wasn't fast enough.

          Harrison's eyes narrowed.  "What do you want?"

          Paul stepped lightly into the office, ignoring the glowering astrophysicist hanging off his shoulder like some cosmic vulture waiting for him to drop so he could tear out his liver.

          "We need to talk, Doctor."

          Walking casually to Blackwood's chair, Paul dropped into it, leaned back and swung his cowboy-boot-clad feet onto the cluttered surface.

          Harrison did the prescribed mental count to ten, then pinched each polished boot-tip between a thumb and forefinger and lifted the offending foot ware off his desk and dropped them.

          Ironhorse bent his knees, leaned forward and tucked his legs under the chair all in one fluid, graceful motion.  The elbows came up to rest on the desk instead.

          "Fine," the scientist grumbled.  "Talk."

          Ironhorse nodded once, as if to himself.  "Good.  Glad to see you're cooperating."

          "Cooperating?"

          "Ever since that Marcus Madison Mason thing you've—"

          "What do you mean, cooperating?"

          Ironhorse stopped, his eyebrows lifting a half-inch in annoyance.  He didn't like being interrupted – a fact Harrison took great delight in exploiting.

          "I mean," the colonel articulated clearly, "that ever since that Mason thing you've been acting… weird."

          Harrison drew himself up, folded his arms across his chest and pinned an oh-please look on the soldier.  "I thought that was normal, Colonel."

          "Weirder than normal, Doctor."

          "Explain."

          Ironhorse pushed back and stood, walking out to stand in the center of the room.  "One, you're not eating.  Two, you're off your regular sleep pattern.  Three, you're spending thirty-seven percent more time standing on your head and staring at candles, and four, you're pacing."

          Harrison blinked.  Thirty-seven percent?  The soldier was anal.  Completely and hopelessly anal.  "So?"

          "So I want to know why, mister.  If there's something going on, I want to know about it.  If there's something bothering you, I want to help."

          "Why?" Harrison asked suspiciously.

          "Because, Doctor, that's what I do.  That's my job."

          "To harass, spy, and browbeat?"

          Ironhorse looked hurt.  "Something like that, yes."  He walked over and took up Harrison's usual position leaning against the desk.  A nuclear bomb wouldn't budge him from that spot now.

          Harrison's eyes dropped closed for a moment.  "I don't know."

          "Not buying, Doctor."

          The scientist's hands flew up in frustration.  "I'm serious, Colonel.  I don't know.  That's why I've been standing on my head, staring at candles, and pacing."

          The eyebrows peaked to their are-you-bullshitting-me-Doctor? location.

          Harrison leaned forward slightly.  "Really."

          Ironhorse seemed to ponder that for a moment.  "Then pull out that tuning fork and get busy, Doctor, because I'm not leaving until I have an answer."

          Harrison slunk over to the couch, and sank down, pouting.  He waited for several seconds, but the colonel remained rooted in place.  Damn the man anyway.

          Digging into his pocket, he fished out the slender sliver fork and struck it against the edge of the bookshelf.  A clear, clean tone filled the room and he closed his eyes, letting the instrument swing from his ear to in front of his nose.  He tried again.

          "Nothing," he said.

          The colonel folded his arms over his chest and settled back, looking far too comfortable for Harrison's peace of mind.  "Got a candle handy?"

          Blackwood was ready to charge the soldier and forcefully remove him from the room when the door cracked open and Suzanne leaned in.

          "Oh, there you are.  Mrs. P says lunch will be ready in fifteen minutes."

          "Thank you, Suzanne, we'll be out," Ironhorse said.

          Harrison sagged back against the couch and nodded mutely.  When the colonel turned back all he found was a morose astrophysicist, mumbling to himself.

          The colonel pushed off the desk and stalked over to Blackwood.  "Get a grip, Doctor, you're going to lunch, like it or not.  There's no reason to worry the rest of the Project…  Are you listening, Blackwood?"

          Harrison leaned forward.  "It can't be."

          "What, animal, vegetable, or mineral?" the colonel asked drily.  Harrison's imploring blue eyes silenced any further teasing.  "What?"

          "Me," Harrison said.  "Me… Mason… Suzanne."

          Ironhorse shook his head.  "English, Doctor."

          "I knew I was acting… weird, but…"

          Paul grinned.  "Not weird, Harrison… jealous."

          The blue eyes rounded.  "No, I'm—"

          "Jealous," Ironhorse reiterated with only half-suppressed glee.  "Admit it, Harrison, you're interested in our lady doc for more than her test tubes."

          Blackwood collapsed back against the couch, his hands coming up to cover his face.  "Ahhhhh," he cried into his palms.  "Why her?"

          Ironhorse shrugged.  "What's the problem?  She's bright, pretty… and interested."

          Harrison shook his head furiously.  "We have completely different approaches.  We have completely different interests.  We have—"

          "The hots for each other," the colonel finished.  "Come on, Harrison, admit it.  You've been acting weirder than normal because you want to spend some time alone with Suzanne."

          "No!" he protested, pushing himself off the couch and past the colonel.  "I mean… yes, but—"  His hands flew up again in agitation.  He spun, staring at Ironhorse.  "What am I going to do?"

          The colonel managed to keep the smile in check as he walked over, joining Harrison.  "Tell her.  Ask her out on a date.  Take a day off and drive her up to that cabin you keep telling me about.  Just do something, mister, before you drive the rest of us crazy."  Ironhorse gave the stunned scientist a hearty slap on the shoulder and started for the door, adding, "And _don't_ be late for lunch, Doctor."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Harrison managed to survive the meal, hiding behind his salad and trying to not to draw attention to himself.  It didn't work.  Every time he looked up, Suzanne was staring at him.  As soon as he could, he escaped back to his office.

          He sighed.  What was he going to do?  She was a colleague.  She was a soldier in a deadly war.  She was…

          His thoughts wandered back to the evening she'd gone to dinner with Mason – beautiful, articulate, sexy in a way that he couldn't define.  And a little uptight, but that was just her professional demeanor.  Under that was something more.  He'd seen a glimpse of it in the vaults at Kirby Hall, something wild and—

          He took a deep breath and held it.  No.  No.  _No!_   Thoughts like that were _not_ helping!

          Maybe he should just confront her.

          And what?

          Tell her she's beautiful.  Tell her you'd like to spend time with her – outside of work.  Tell her—

          She'll take one look at "Dr. Cosmic Procrastinator" and laugh, that's what she'll do.

          A light knock stilled the internal argument, and Harrison called, "Come in," before he realized the mistake.

          "Hi," Suzanne said, slipping in and closing the door behind her.  She smiled slightly, then crossed over and took a seat on the couch.  "Uh, Harrison," she started, "do we need to talk?"

          "About what?" he asked, trying to sound as professional as possible.

          She shifted uncomfortably.  "Well, ever since what happened with Marcus, you've been acting a little… strange."

          "Have I?"

          "Yes…  Is something wrong?  Did I do something that upset you?"

          Blackwood's eyes flew wide, and he stood.  "No."  He realized immediately he'd said that too fast.  "Really," he reassured, stepping around his desk.  "You didn't do anything.  It's me.  I— I—"

          "What, Harrison?"

          He paced to the couch and stood, looking down at her.  "Oh, Suzanne," he said.  "I don't know.  I'm—"

          She stood, reaching out to rest a hand lightly on his arm.  "Harrison, please. Tell me what's wrong."

          "Nothing.  Nothing's _wrong_ , it's just… confused."

          "What's confused?"

          "I'm confused."

          "I could say that's not unusual," she teased.  "It's more than that, though, isn't it?"

          " _You_ confuse me," Harrison stammered.

          "Me?"

          "It wasn't supposed to happen.  I didn't plan this.  I just want you to know that," he said, taking a step away.

          She followed.  "Planned what?  Harrison, I don't understand."

          "I— I have… feelings."

          "I know that," she countered, starting to feel somewhat defensive.

          "About you."

          She paused.  "Oh."  Paul had told her that Harrison was having a hard time working something out and that she might be able to help.  Obviously the colonel knew a good deal more about the situation than he'd admitted.

          She'd have to have a talk with him about surprises.

          "Me."  She grabbed Blackwood's arm and guided him to the couch and gave him enough of a shove to get him to sit.  She stood, resting her hands on her hips. "Let me get this straight, you're having some kind of problem with me?  Am I not doing the work you want done?  Am I not communicating as well as you'd like?  Am I—?"

          "No, no, no," he said, trying to stand.  She reached out and pushed him back down.  "That's _not_ what I mean."

          "Then what _do_ you mean, Harrison?" she demanded.

          He took a deep breath, reached out both hands and gave a silent 'thank you' when she reached out and took them.  Standing, he didn't let go.  "When you went out with Mason, I was… jealous."

          "Jealous?" she asked, her eyebrows doing a good imitation of the colonel's.

          He nodded.  "I know it's—"

          "Kind of nice," she supplied when he faltered.  "Thank you, Harrison."

          "You don't mind?"

          She grinned.  "No."

          A relieved smile lifted his lips.  "Good."  Before she could move, he leaned forward, brushing a light kiss over her lips.

          "Oh," she said, startled.

          Their gazes met, and he waited to see if she rejected him.  When she didn't, he leaned forward again, kissing her more soundly, then stepped back.

          "I've been wanting to do that for a long time," he said.

          "I see," was Suzanne's somewhat stunned reply.  The colonel had a _lot_ of explaining to do.

          "Do you mind?"

          "Mind?  No.  No, I don't mind."

          He slid his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into a hug.  "Good, because, if it's all right with you, I'd like to continue this line of research."

          "I think that could be arranged," she said with a soft laugh.

          "You set the protocol, Doctor, and I'll—"

          She reached up and pulled his head down, silencing him with a kiss.

The End


End file.
